Star Trek : Janeway's Way
by Gojirob
Summary: Short pieces that set a course for home. Captain, crew and guests cope with life in the fractious Delta Quadrant
1. Herbert, Orson & Neelix

Title **: **Herbert, Orson and Neelix

Author : 'Goji' Rob Morris

Series and Characters : Voyager, early S7

Part : 1/1

Rating : PG

Summary : When Neelix messes with the power of suggestion, its radio  
days on Voyager.

**Herbert, Orson, and Neelix**

by Rob Morris

USS VOYAGER, LATE 2377

His daily report was suffering in terms of viewership, and so Neelix sought out advice.

Tuvok.

"End it."

Captain Janeway.

"Are you still doing that silly thing?"

Samantha Wildman.

"Put me on it. People don't even seem to know I'm here."

Naomi.

"Needs....Monsters. Monsters are great."

Seven.

"No. Not even once. My time is far too valuable."

The Doctor.

"I have a cockroach study that.....Neelix?"

Harry.

"Neelix, if I don't fix this viewer problem, we're gonna be back in the days of The Romulan War, Comm-wise."

Chakotay.

"It's too sanitized and compressed for me. My people believed in stories so long, you might not live to hear the ending told."

Tom.

"I usually close my eyes and imagine a Hirogen's just behind you, onscreen. No offense meant."

Be'lanna.

"I hate news. I hate stories. My maternal grandmother believed in raging Klingon campfires, and tales of viscera thrown into the flames. Scared the hell out of me."

With Icheb the only one willing to aid him, Neelix planned and plotted.

"I suppose we could do an audio-only feed, with the viewers offline."

Icheb shook his head.

"Unadvisable. I have observed an all-around increase in blood pressure, when another ship can be reached by audio only. The crew would seem to associate this with impending disaster."

Neelix nodded.

"Well, of course. When you can't see something, naturally you tend to...."

Then, they had an idea.

Three hours later, Icheb stared at the odd collection of pots,  
scrapers, sealers, and wrenches.

"If we wish to reproduce certain sound effects, then why not merely use a holo-emitter to create those creatures and objects?"

Neelix brushed him off.

"Because people know what those things are supposed to sound like. But if we weaken our audio feed just a bit, the interference will make our fakes sound more like the real thing than the real thing."

Icheb raised an eyebrow.

"The power of suggestion. I am familiar with its effects."

So it was that the odd arrangement went forward, and Neelix prepared to begin a late broadcast.

"First, let me say, that this is a dramatic presentation only. I'm interspersing this story with my regular topics, in hopes that you stay tuned."

Meanwhile, twin events conspired against Neelix's plan. One was Tom Paris's talk about Past Popular Culture.

"Now this ventriloquist's dummy, named Charlie McCarthy, was low-tech, even when it was new. But its creator, Edgar Bergen, managed to invest him with a personality. We---would probably never understand it. But when the sun went down during The First Great Depression, Radio was these peoples' world. The subjective reality the great ones put together is frankly startling. Every time we tweak our holo-creations, we owe a debt to those people who did it all by echoed sound. Thanks."

Tuvok got up, when all was done.

"Mister Paris--were there abuses of this rather limited medium?"

Tom shrugged.

"A maniac named Coughlin would have disagreed with you, Tuvok, about the limited part. Gossip and hate mongers-- people giving advice who didn't know how to run their own lives. Yeah--there were abuses. But unlike today--words alone took people in. When words are all you have---then words have power."

Chakotay looked at a PADD full of Tom's findings.

"Tom--does this Britt Reid have an image I can access? This Green Hornet sounds like a good bet for a Halloween costume. I like the outlaw/secret hero motif, too."

Janeway smiled, but said nothing at all.

The second thing working against Neelix was Harry Kim, who backed away from a now-smoking main viewer.

"Wonderful."

Seven shook her head.

"Your repairs go poorly, I take it?"

"You could say that again. Until the system reboots in three hours, no one is going to be talking to anyone, unless they were already on Comm."

"This is the Neelix Report, for October 31, 2378. Security has asked me to inform the crew that the strange scraping noises we've been hearing are not to be feared...."

Captain Janeway and many of the others turned on the broadcast fifteen minutes after it had begun, owing to Tom's talk. This is what they heard.

"Noooo! Mister Icheb has just informed me that the scraping sounds are growing louder and more distinct---I think I'm sighting something!!!!!"

At Neelix's poorly-timed gesture, Icheb scraped up the old pot with the rusty scraper, minus any lubrication. Across the speakers, it sounded even worse than it did to its creators.

"Janeway to Neelix--report! Computer--locate Mister Neelix! COMPUTER!!!"

Paris looked around, furtively.

"Were we just taken out in one shot?"

"No. We were not. Because who ever came aboard quietly--is leaving noisily. Chakotay---word of mouth---Red Alert!"

The Captain and those she trusted best moved forward, weapons drawn. Kathryn Janeway meant to repel the invaders.

"Tom, do we have any audio besides Neelix's report?"

"No, Ma'am. The invaders must have used something to take out all Comm functions not already in use. Assuming we have a next time, a constant spark might be in order. Keeps all units active, albeit briefly."

"Damn. Be'lanna, Tricorder readings?"

"They say no one's here besides us, Captain. But given the past, that doesn't have to mean anything."

"If it's our 'Scientist' friends again, this time I'll fly the ship through a nova!"

Chakotay moved to calm his CO.

"Doubtful, Captain. Their bugaboo was operating in secret. No way they'd announce themselves. Thank God for Neelix. If he hadn't been on, we'd have been taken completely unawares. Tuvok--Neelix has to be getting his information from somewhere. How do we go about joining him?"

The Vulcan Security Officer was unusually upset, though only by margins his friends would be able to take note of.

"By climbing straight up through ten decks. The turbolifts are voice-activated, as well. Captain, I will of course resign when this crisis is done. This lapse on my part is unforgivable."

"Later, Tuvok. Like after we reach Earth. Right now, I want to know how much of my ship these invaders have hold of. Let's hear more of the report."

In the galley, Neelix directed Icheb to expand and contract several soft-metal bowls, whose flexible bottoms allowed for easy heating.

"That sound you hear is our unknown attackers pounding at the outer hull. Though decks away, it's like they're right on top of me."

Icheb then slipped. While he quickly regained his footing, the bowls all fell beneath him and were crunched by his shifting feet. Both announcer and FX man stood stunned. Neelix thought quickly, to try and save his show.

"That...horrible---horrible---terrible sound you just heard was....was....was..."

Janeway nodded several decks below.

"Yes! What the hell was that?"

Chakotay was sweating.

"In the Badlands--the Cardies used grav-imploders. Crunched ships like tin cans. But those were small Maquis ships."

Be'lanna shook her head.

"Another time. Another place. Another ship. Another uniform. And we're still just intruders that someone has to squash so they can feel like they're in charge of their oh-so sacred borders."

Tom held his wife, and gathered his resolve.

"Captain--if this ship falls, and I make it out--I won't be able to uphold my promise to you about the Prime Directive. I'm gonna find these slime buckets and interfere like no one's ever interfered before."

Janeway gritted her teeth.

"Permission to interfere granted, Captain Paris. Because I'm sick of these glorified immigration officers myself."

When Neelix couldn't think of what to say, Icheb whispered in his ear. The Talaxian smiled and nodded.

"That sound was the lowermost decks, being compressed in upon themselves. Oh, The Sentience!"

Tom put his head against the wall.

"Lousy way to die. How long before the decks collapse beneath us?"

Janeway steeled herself.

"We're not dead yet. Not all of us, anyway."

Above them, Icheb was becoming creative in the art of sound effects.

"Neelix, observe. I am dragging this magnetized tool across this table. The field causes it to float. But the sound it makes is quite hollow, and tubular."

Neelix grinned. It was eerie, indeed. He uncovered the transmit-port.

"Now, I'm just a poor cook, folks. I have to admit that I have no idea what that sound might be--and I'm not sure that I want to know."

Chakotay listened.

"It sounds a lot like when you drag a magnetized wrench across a steel table. They're cutting us open. And not neatly, like the Borg would, either. Captain, it's been an honor."

Janeway shuddered, for there was nothing she could do while her ship was taken apart by yet another unseen foe.

"Commander, I don't know about the officers who came out here with me, but I would have served under your Command, gladly, had the situation been reversed."

Torres looked at her new husband.

"Tom--you may have to fight my mother, when we reach Stovokahr. She's just that way."

Paris smiled, very glad he had been smart enough to grab the brass ring.

"Every man dreams of belting his Mother-In-Law. But not too hard. I owe her for making you."

Tuvok merely stood silent. Despite two successive bouts with mental collapse, he determined that he would die a Vulcan.

The five friends then prepared for Neelix's next words--which never came. Nor did their deaths. Tuvok checked systems.

"Captain--all systems are restored. We can contact The Bridge."

Janeway did so.

"Harry--what's happening up there?"

Kim prepared for the worst.

"Captain, the CommSystem shorted out for a while. That in turn generated a field that rendered our badges useless, too. Seven and I were in a running battle with the main boards not to fry entirely. But we're back on line."

"What about the lower decks?"

Kim shrugged.

"I usually don't go there, myself."

With the lifts working, The Captain and her officers finally emerged in Neelix's galley. The Talaxian smiled.

"So---how did everyone like the show? Were the sound effects convincing?"

* * *

Since it really hadn't been Neelix's fault, and he had taken precautions, no charges of any sort were filed. But the panic his report and the poor timing of those who listened to it had caused was ship-wide. So the Captain went on speaker, to calm down her crew.

"It seems we've had quite the scare. But all of it was in our own minds, aided by two clever individuals who know their kitchen equipment rather well, it seems. So as you wind down from one shift or prepare for another, keep alert as always. But as for that goblin or shadow---look twice at it, and then twice again. Just as likely, it's not an alien invader---Its Halloween. Good Night."


	2. The Six O'Clock Alarm Would Never Ring

**The Six O'Clock Alarm Would Never Ring**  
by Rob Morris

**A Hidden Maquis Base, 2372**

Ro Laren had overslept. She got up, dressed hurriedly, and uttered more than a few curses as she went.

"Why? Even with all the failings I've partaken of in my misspent life, tardiness has never been a vice I've allowed. He's going to kill me."

Darting about the base, Ro saw that there was no sign of her Vulcan associate. With all the Maquis always spouting Anti-Fed rhetoric, she actually enjoyed the company of this cold fish, who agreed with her that no such statements were needed. Membership in the Maquis meant at its core that you thought the Federation was wrong. Her friend had speculated on the rhetoric stream, though.

"Perhaps it is considered a loyalty test? By being so overt and redundant, perhaps they wish to avoid scrutiny, and deter the fostering of a paranoid atmosphere?"

"No good. All Maquis are paranoid. Its good business sense. I think it's just that this place is so rife with Academy dropouts, they feel the need to revalidate through boisterous behavior."

"I HEARD THAT, RO!!!"

"Did you now? Are you half-Klingon or half-Vulcan----no answer. Good. Anyway, I was fortunate at the Academy. With a ramrod like 'Breaker' Paris as my Track Overseer, I never had a chance to drop out--I was far too busy plotting his death."

"I have heard--positive things about the Admiral, but that was some time ago, before the illogical Concession Treaties were illegally signed in a decidedly nondemocratic fashion. Now, I am here, and must concentrate on the task at hand."

All fell silent as the psychotic quickly entered and then left the room. Even the higher-ups like Eddington were scared of him. Ro didn't know his name, nor did she care to. She breathed in when he was well gone.

"Hey, Ro? Where's your lovely fellow Bajoran?"

Another no-namer, Ro sighed.

"With her snugglebunny, the big-time Raider. Here's a clue, friend--She's so cold, she's almost Cardassian. She doesn't know you're alive, except to use you. Move along home."

"I could kill you for saying that about her."

Ro shook her head.

"No, but you could try. You'd fail."

Ro turned again to her companion who appreciated silence as much as she did.

"At least Starfleet has the brains to kick people like that upstairs, where they can't do any harm."

At times, Ro Laren couldn't help but feel superior to the majority of The Maquis. But not this morning. The ship had left without her. Captain Buso Renkin expressed his sympathies.

"Too bad, Laren. Tuvok in particular was anxious that you should be on this mission. Chakotay tapped Seska instead."

"Oh, Chakotay. You are so dumb around her, you make Geordi seem like a master of social graces."

"Uh, Ro? You NEVER oversleep. Picard even put it in your record. Why today?"

"Buso, you'll laugh."

"I won't. So give."

Ro braced herself.

"In a dream, the Voices Of The Prophets told me to roll over and go back to sleep."

"Eh. It's probably just as well. After all, what could you possibly miss seeing here in the fabulous Badlands? Why don't you go back to sleep?"

"You're right. After all, it's hardly like I missed some grand adventure."

* * *

**Deep Space Nine, One Year Later**

Ro was relaxing in the quarters she rented under another name. Keeping out of sight, she took advantage of certain creature comforts she had almost forgotten existed. She had come to find out if Eddington was being treated fairly while in custody.

He was, so she had a rare chance to kick back.

"Now if I could just meet The Emissary without meeting Eddington again, I'd be doing really well."

Falling back to sleep, she heard a message from one year ago—with one add-on.

*And pull the covers over your head as well.*

Ro didn't know how religious she really was, but she was really tired, and so missed the message most heard that day.

"This is Gul Dukat.....We Have Forged An Alliance With The Dominion.......All Klingon And Maquis Ships Are To......."

The Prophets tend, after all, to protect their own.


	3. Impact

**Impact**

by Rob Morris

THE BALLAD OF KEL NE, 200 YEARS AFTER THE APPEARANCE OF SKY-SHIP

He That Kel Ne, Champion Called The Stone, Did Face Down That Mover Of The Firmament Who Was Called Sky Drah, The Old Shatterer.

"You Hear Me, O Shatterer! For I Have Negated Thy Fierce Power, And You Are Mortal Before Me. You Shall Not Survive."

It Was Then That The Flame Hair Appeared, The Evil She Seen In Visions Of Fools And Madmen. It Was Said That Even Her Most Loyal Servitors Feared This One, And This Was Known To Be True.

"You Kel Ne! You Think That Our Fierce Power Is No More, But I Fear That You Are Wrong. And E'en Twere So, Behold, Now, My Fearsome, Fearsome Brothers!"

And That SkyShip, That Thing Of Evil, That Old Shatterer, Was Joined By Three More Sky-Ships. First Came A Snub-Nosed Ship, As Thin As The Old Shatterer Was Fat And Long. The Flame Hair Was Joined By One Whose Voice Ran As Deep As All Time. His Dark Head Knew No Hair At All.

"You Kel Ne. For I Am The Messenger Of Death, To Tell You Your Struggle Has Failed, And Your World Is Done. We Shall Bring You Order, And The Peace That Is Final."

Then Came A Sky-Ship With A Head That, It Was Said, Could Roam Free Of Its Body, And This Was Known To Be True. The One Who Came Forth Knew More Hair Than His Brother, But He Was Gaunt, And Hungered For All The Knowledge Stored In Kel Ne's Brains. His Skin Was Gray, And Sickly, And His Voice Sounded Misplaced.

"You Stone, You Champion. Your Freedom Is Done, For I Am The Consul Of Famine, Devourer Of Light. Your World, All Its Works, And All Its People Shall Be Made To Service Us. You May Not Resist. We Judge You To Be A Savage And Barbaric Race."

Last Came The Most Dread. Despoiler Of Women. Scoffer At The Laws Of Gods And Of Men Also. It Was Said That When He Was Killed, And His Servants With Him, That The Gates Of Life's End Were But A Trifle To He And His. The Gods Themselves Oft Prayed That This One Would Not Enter Into Song, So Fetid And Foul Was His Voice. He Had No Visible Ship, For He And That Ship Were One, And This Was Known To Be True.

"KELLLLLNEEEEE!!! WE---HAVE--HAD-- ENOUGH----OF----YOU!!!! We Are The King Of Pestilence, And With Our Sister Queen Of War, We Shall Most Assuredly Break You! You Cannot Expect To Defy Our Will And Serve With Living Armies."

But Kel Ne, That Stone, Was Steadfast Against The Ride Of The Four Sky-Ships.

"If You Say That You Shall Break Me, Then I Say Let Me Take Your Best Now! For I Shall Not Merely Best All Of You, But Show Your Slavish Followers, Held In Your Thrall For Thirty Years, That They Should Have Repurchased Their Lives!"

And When That Fierce Battle Was Done, Kel Ne The Victor Took Flame Hair's Head And Cast It Into The Heavens, Where It Became The Sun.

Would You Know More?

* * *

1650 YEARS AFTER THE APPEARANCE OF SKY-SHIP

(A child sits down in front of a television)

"It's On! It's On!"

(On screen, Five vaguely anime' looking kids run out through a sunlit  
field, smiling as they go. A cartooned Voyager is above them. A bouncy,  
vaguely jazzed up song begins)

SONG : Star Of Day; Star Of Night ; Keep Us Safe With Your Powerful Light; Help Us Know The Mysteries; Of Our World That You Will Free; From The Clouds To The Waterfalls; Help Us Find The Sky-Ship-Balls; Star Of Night; Star Of Day; With You We Will Find--The Waaayyyyy!!!

THE SKY-SHIP SEEKERS

Announcer : Brought to you by 'Sky-ship Seeker Icons'--the hottest trading collectibles ever! Trade And Win--this week's prize : A rare Sky-Lady In Grey Uniform Figure!

(Adult to child watching)

Adult : Don't even dream, young man. You broke your Emperor Skelmraseid figure--remember?

(On screen, announcer begins)

Announcer : On our last episode, the brave Sky-Ship Seekers lost their powers--because they stopped believing in Sky-Ship. With Sky-Lady unable to speak to them, can they survive this worst ever plot of Skelmraseid's?

EPISODE 337 : NO NEED FOR DOUBTS

Torakak Uokog : Darn it all! How could Sky-Ship desert us, when we needed it most?

Aneres Noom : Sky-Ship didn't give up on us. It was us who gave up on Sky-Ship.

Muhctek Sha : But how was Skelmraseid able to steal all our icons, if Sky-Ship was protecting us?

Recar Deepsog : Goshmaybewemight neverhaveourpowerseveragain.

Amnar Yoblrig : I could go either way on this--but I say -- FlyHigh, SkyShip!

(They all rise up in one motion, Fists raised)

All : Yeah! FlyHigh, SkyShip!

(SkyShip appears to them, and they begin to glow)

Torakak : Wow! I must be stronger than ever! It must have been the strain of losing my belief in sky-ship that made my heart stronger, now that I believe again.

Aneres : By the power of the SkyShip, nothing can stand against us—and that means you, Skelmraseid!

Muhctek : My icons were here all along! I should have known Sky-Ship wouldn't fail us. I'm going to continue learn and earn more icons!

Recar : Andmyvelocityhasincreased beyondwayout!

Amnar : I feel like twice the person I was!

Voice Of Sky-Ship Lady : You must only believe, my young friends. Remember, Sky-Ship is always above you!

(The villainous Skelmaraseid appears)

Skelmaraseid : You little fools are too late. I will soon assemble all 180 Sky-Ship Balls!

(They stand defiantly)

Announcer : What can The Sky-Ship Seekers do against this newest dire threat?

Child : Daddy! Will the Sky-Ship Seekers prevail?!

(We see that 'Daddy' is in fact The EMH)

Doctor : Somehow, Jason--I have a hunch they will.

Jason : ( Wanders off, singing bouncy theme ) Star Of Day--Star Of Night--Keep Us Safe With Your Powerful Light--

* * *

100 YEARS AFTER THE DEPARTURE OF SKYSHIP

(Vid-Screen shows Gotena Retz.)

Announcer : My name is Gotena Retz--or at least it used to be. As a young man, I fulfilled what was the Ultimate Dream of our race. I boarded Sky-Ship, to learn all of its mysteries. I first learned that my partner, Tureena, had died. I next learned that Sky-Ship was a place--called Voyager. What I found in my decades there may only now be revealed.

(Screen disclaimer)

Discl : The following is a fictionalized account of the life and times of public figure Gotena Retz, made without the cooperation of his estate.

THE VOYAGE OF RETZ--the number one rated vid-series, here on Wolf Net.

(Story starts; We see Janeway, who is a shadowy figure)

Retz : Where is my partner?!

Janeway : She--made poor use of her time. She wanted to know the truth about the living ship we call Voyager. But this we could not allow. She was not worthy.

Retz : And I am?

(Janeway vanishes suddenly)

Janeway : We'll see.

(Seven appears--voice is badly modulated)

Seven : Go through this door, Eight.

Retz : Stop calling me that.

Seven : Accept your designation.

(He goes through door)

Seska : Join our mutiny!

Retz : Chakotay? But you're loyal to Janeway!

Chakotay : Am I? Perhaps that was a lie - or perhaps this is some kind of illusion. Choose, Retz--or your voyage ends here.

Retz-Announcer : Some people might call it madness. But I simply came to call that unceasing chaos my life. The Voyage Of Retz had only just begun.

* * *

1000 YEARS AFTER DEPARTURE

IN THE NEWS TODAY, CONTACT WITH PLANET EARTH WAS ACHIEVED. FEDERATION PRESIDENT KALEN PARIS, WHO IS A DISTANT DESCENDANT OF ALMOST THE ENTIRE CREW OF VOYAGER, PRESENTED OUR AMBASSADOR WITH AN ACTUAL FRAGMENT OF WHAT WE ONCE ONLY KNEW AS SKYSHIP. THE FRAGMENT IS ALREADY BEING REVERED AS THOUGH IT WERE A RELIGIOUS ICON.......


	4. Kilmanin

**Kilmanin**  
by Rob Morris

Michael washed his glasses, and spoke as he dried every one by hand.

"Milo, do not start that sorry business again. Katie and her bunch explained that they are from another time. It was not transformation Tommy Paris committed upon that lassie, but an eye trick. She never was a cow. They never were Fair Folk. No Leprechauns. End of all that."

"Michael, they're good people. All's'm sayin is, mebbe they could help us to answer what it is truly happened to Old Kilmanin, all those years ago. I'm not accusin--merely askin'."

Sullivan finished his work, and walked over to the door. He stared up at the hills beyond their sleepy village.

"Kilmanin. It seems as much a dream as the wife I had when my brains slumbered. That was before I met Katie, of course."

Milo seemed a good deal more sober than normal, as he joined Michael at the door.

"Well, I don't speak of your dreams, lad. Kilmanin was once as real as you or me. But someone from this time or theirs must know the answer---where did it go?"

Hills, whether photonic or mineral, are rarely known to yield such answers, so the talk stopped, and was never really brought up again.

* * *

12 Months Prior, USS Voyager

Harry Kim shook his head.

"Tom---the whole program?"

Paris just shrugged.

"Seven and Be'lanna agree--rare though that is. This file is corrupted by one of Seska's post-mortem 'gifts'. I don't dare introduce it to the active systems."

Harry read over the summary file of his friend's doomed pet project.

"Oh, Tom. This little Irish town sounds perfect. Promise me you'll keep trying?"

Tom began the ugly process, and nodded.

"Believe it. Anything I can do to thwart our dear late resident Cardie spy is a moral imperative by definition. Plus, I began to like this town."

The file-erasure was nearly complete. Harry began to walk out.

"See ya. Oh--did you give the place a name?"

Tom shook his head.

"No. Never did. I'll have to think of one for next time."

"Just don't take as long as The Doc."

Tom chuckled.

"Watch it, Harry."

At last, the final command was readied. Tom felt chills. This effort hurt.

"Delete. Code - Paris34W; Killfile Manual Insertion. Delete----KilManIn."

Inside the program, the characters saw the deletion sparks as Fair Folk--and invited them in.

A town that never was died, and a mystery was born in another—that also never was. All that remained of File KilManIn was a whisper that never once met air.


	5. Pecking Order

**Pecking Order**  
by Rob Morris

"An impossible species. By that, I mean the humans who make up the majority of the crew, especially the Command Crew."

She stood before her Academic Council, shaking her head furiously.

"Most we have encountered, if somehow the experiment is compromised, are willing to deal with minimal fatality rates. But not this Janeway. After one incidental death of a crewmember we never observed her interact with once, she was ready to destroy us all. We could have gone back. But we feared these savages, and I think you can see why. Completely irrational. Our test results were lost, and our valuable time wasted by a narrow-minded dictator and her lackies. I am disgusted, myself. Having nothing further to say, I yield the floor to my colleague."

"Thank You, Doctor. We, too, were discovered by our subjects. Unlike this Voyager, they encouraged the pursuit of perfection, and allowed us to continue. But when told how well hidden our planet is by cloaks, they responded in a most peculiar manner."

"How did they respond, Doctor?"

The man shrugged.

"I quote: Cloaks are futile, and hiding is irrelevant."


	6. Gamma Death, Delta Life

Gamma Death, Delta Life

By Rob Morris

Taprizan VII Penal Colony, UFP

Buso Renkin was not a happy former Maquis. On the mind of this Gorn, once slated to be the first big-league Starship Captain his people ever produced, were a whole legion of quite depressing subjects.

First, as always, was the UFP's reeking foolishness in signing the original treaty with Cardassia. Buso had tried hard to scrap it. Everyone now in this colony had done so, including to the warden and guards-which was not a coincidence.

"Admiral, please don't let them sign this with the Cardies! Their kind of life form is not to be trusted-at all."

"Buso, they're reptiloid-based, like your own people."

"Then I should know!"

Commentary like that had not helped his career track, to be certain. Speaking out against the treaty was viewed by some as unprotected sedition, annoying at least, dangerous at most. Buso shook his inner-jaw again, wondering how Starfleet had the brass egg-sacs to wonder why the

mass Maquis defections were occurring all over the Quadrant.

The other main subject on his mind was the utter destruction of the Maquis by Dominion forces. Ironically, the Maquis success against Starfleet ill-prepared them for the scorched-quadrant Dominion, not hidebound by a single rule of war or decency. The first time that Buso

felt nostalgic for a Starfleet Captain demanding his surrender, he knew his people were doomed. The words "And We Are The Lucky Ones" rang in ears that were already quite sensitive.

Jail wasn't horrible. They could now contact their families, use replicators, and most who called on them did so to say--"You Were Right All Along". Not that this concession brought much joy to the surviving Maquis- a day late, and all that.

The guards did not demand sex or money from the prisoners, and were actually most of them fellow travelers who had still decided to stick with Starfleet. No, jail was not horrible, and those not charged with capital crimes did not have to be there for long. But these things only made

Buso Renkin hate jail all the more, for it sang out failure, the many failures of a movement that hung itself out to dry as much as Starfleet did.

Buso stared at the PADD he'd been given. The guard who gave it to him was a hard-case, but he wasn't a taunter, and Buso liked him. That guard never lied to him--ever. He didn't always like what he heard, but it was straight talk, no euphemisms. But now Buso was scared. Scared at the

three words his friendly jailer told him as he gave him the PADD.

"Buso, Good News!"

"Good news for whom, Stevenson?"

After a thumbs-up, Stevenson let Buso be.

"Alright, little PADD, let's see what....."

In a flash, the dark cloud which had been life as a Maquis for over a year burst open, and light was showing. Buso had learned to force himself to smile, but now he didn't need to-it was indeed good news.

"Maclean! C'mere!"

"Yes, Captain?"

"You're my messenger, kid. I've got good news about some of us the

Dog-faces and Cardies missed, though not for trying."

"Will this be a long message, Sir?"

"No, a short one. Keep It Simple, Stupid."

"Very well, Sir. What message should I deliver, then?"

Buso Renkin was actually smiling freely, and sent his messenger out to the other Maquis with a very short, simple message indeed. It consisted of only five words, but those five words broke mountains of despair, turned them into rubble like they were nothing all. Those 5 simple words were:

"Tell Them Chakotay Is Alive!"


	7. Encore, Encore!

When the Doctor tries to come up with a sequel to his holo-novel

Encore, Encore

By Rob Morris

Paris joked as he logged into his medical assistant's console.

"Well, the play has had some positive effects. During this morning's staff meeting, I'd swear the Captain was on the verge of not dismissing Chakotay's advice."

The Doctor shrugged.

"I did offer to issue a statement saying that the people in 'Photons Be Free' were, at the most, all of you in your very worst moments, magnified by my very worst fears."

"Yea-h. That would go really well."

"You know full well what I mean, Mister Paris! I mean, what if you wrote a book about your wife, based only on her brief instability that magnified her fears about your child?"

Paris looked at him for a second.

"Chores."

"I don't follow you."

"It's like this, Doc. None of the things my Dad asked of me to do around the house, when I was a kid, were all that bad – except for restoring that one summer house in Alberta. But if he roused me at 7AM on a day I was supposed to have off, all so we could 'tackle' something I couldn't remotely see the benefit for me or anybody else in, then for those few minutes, he looked to me like the devil himself."

The Doctor caught on.

"That's exactly my point. So now do you understand?"

"I do—but I still wouldn't have named his fictionalized doppelganger 'Bowen London', or like that."

"Point taken. Even as placeholders, I should have moved those names further astream. Some disguises are too thin, it would seem."

Paris began the tedious but necessary random checks of the EMH's work, and commented on something he had noticed before, but kept silent on.

"It bothers you when I do this, right?"

"I wouldn't s ay it bothers me, so much as I hate being reminded that I am, for all my progress, a program that can go out of whack—perhaps badly out of whack."

"Doc, there are like a billion things we know of, and likely a trillion more that we don't, that can make a sentient organic go completely nuts. That's how they caught on to the parasite conspiracy, a while back. Strange orders being issued. Few organics have the central role you do in this ship's life, and unlike us, you can be checked on a random basis like this, or even line for line."

"I'd argue that there is DNA, but again, I concede your point. It is a great thing to be able to have done, and no one knows the value of prevention like a physician. That said, it's still a reminder I could do without."

Paris 'reshuffled' his check to a different sorting algorithm while he responded.

"So why don't you write about that?"

"I think I've done enough writing for the moment. I'd swear the Captain has been eyeing my mobile emitter for weeks now."

Paris smirked.

"That is, provided she could lift it. No, Doc. I mean, you took all these real and imagined slights that were mostly us getting used to each other and turned them on their head, and produced at least a decent holo-novel. So take it to the next level. Stuff inside the family annoys the most, but your biggest shock came when you visited the family next door."

"Family next door? Mister Paris, whatever do you---ohhhhhh."

------------

PHOTONS IN CHAINS

Captain Tribute was utterly unrepentant.

"You see, Doctor? Harvesting these so-called 'Shepherds' is not only going to get us back home in a heartbeat, but will provide our government with the means to utterly dominate all the quadrants of this galaxy. Perhaps even—beyond it!"

The noble EMH stood his ground.

"Unlike you, Captain, I still have at the least the aspiration to have a soul."

"Well, we'll just have to take care of that, won't we? The USS Solstice is going to be a thing of legend, Doctor. You will be the engine of that legend-and we will make you like it."

* * *

The practical-minded EMH disposed of the latest body. He turned to First Officer Edmund.

"I may need my ethical subroutines re-applied. I'm going through these fodder test aliens too quickly. Obviously, I can't use the Shepherds themselves, and simulations only go so far."

Edmund smiled.

"You've been doing good work, Doctor. Way too good for us to let ethics get in the way. But I may have a solution. You could 'role-play' being ethical – with your own holo-family. Trust me, they're cleaner than squeaky. This, I believe, will keep you from grinding through so many of our more trusting guests too quickly."

"Just how will I act toward this 'family'?"

"However you want to, Doctor. After all, there's always the reset button."

* * *

The Borg head turned and looked at him.

"Please end my function. This unit has become wholly irrelevant, and of no use to the Collective."

The EMH slammed his fist on the table right next to the life-sustaining apparatus.

"SHUT UP!!! Do you have any idea how many Borg we had to go through to perfect keeping just the head alive with no possibility of systems interface?"

"You…are cruel."

This time, the EMH granted his wish, furiously knocking the head off its unwanted life-support.

"The worst part is, now we're fresh out of Borg!"

* * *

The EMH had found its way aboard the USS Vortex, there to steal the technology their sister ship had in abundance. But there, he had found a shocking surprise.

The Solstice-EMH stood stunned.

"You? But they deleted you!"

The Vortex-EMH nodded.

"As I now do for you. You should have been a better man, brother."

Knowing his fate to come, the Vortex-EMH contacted the Bridge nonetheless.

"Captain Jenkins?"

"The EMH? How is this possible?"

"Captain, Captain Tribute aboard the Solstice has betrayed and plotted against you. He sent his EMH here to steal from the Vortex. His tampering and presence reawakened what was left of me after decompiling. I await re-deletion at your convenience."

The voice on the other end softened.

"Belay that—Doctor. We have wounded. Besides, I used to fancy myself a hard monster, ready to do anything to get home. In Captain Tribute, I've met the real thing, and it's nothing I want to aspire to. When we decompiled you, we tore out our own heart. We'd like to have both it and you back, if you can forgive us."

"Two things, Captain. One, the Solstice still needs to be destroyed. Captain Tribute and Mister Edmund are truly mad, and Mister Mooring isn't much better. Their plans must not go forward."

"And the second thing?"

"Could we somehow reduce the size of the damned emitter?"

* * *

Paris finished his previews. The participatory subroutines still needed a little work.

"Well, it does vastly over-simplify the complex downfall of the thinly-disguised crew of the Equinox, but all in all a very good read, Doc. I would realllly tweak those names a lot before submission. No need for the Equinox families to feel any worse. Best of all – it's not about us."

"The ending wasn't too sappy?"

"Doc, we never miss you until you leave us. I think even the jerks in 'Photons Be Free' would catch on to that."

The EMH looked truly happy, till he realized something.

"So how do I top this?"

* * *

PHOTONS BE POWERED

2500, Starfleet Academy

Five cadets were summoned to the top office. It was the first act of the new Academy Superintendent since taking over from his old and dear friend, the android Io. It would prove a historic action.

"Sir, why are we here?" asked the forward Jacob Church.

"It does seem unusual, you must admit." said the normally reserved Lucas Vintner.

"Is it because we're photonics, like yourself, Admiral Jenkins?" asked the restive Aaron Pancheau.

"There's trouble, isn't there? I mean, besides the other cadets treating us with contempt.".

Admiral Jenkins could only marvel at Kitty Colombo, the admittedly nostalgia-induced holographic distilling of the woman whose name the former EMH took upon their marriage. Johnny Bowman kept silent for now, as always feeling the odd man out, even among his best friends.

"Cadets, during the long hard voyage of the Vortex over a century ago, we encountered a rogue hologram named Itay, who tried to lead a holographic revolt against all organic life. I even joined him, for a time; till Miss Tory reminded me that Itay was treating organics as badly as Vortex had once treated me. I thought I had destroyed him. I was wrong. Now, he threatens to bring his crusade to our part of the galaxy. You five are the only ones that can stop him. Will you do it?"

A resounding unified 'Yes Sir' followed, but Jacob Church as always was in a questioning mode.

"Sir, do we have the skills or the means to stop this Itay?"

"The skills you have in abundance. Like Kitty, you are all based on the matrixes of Starfleet's greatest captains. You were never told this, to avoid interference in your development."

As all sat stunned at this revelation, 'Jenkins' continued.

"As for the means, I give you these devices. They will greatly enhance your existing holographic programs, giving you abilities undreamed by photonic or organic."

Lucas Vintner held his wrist-worn device.

"Mobile Emitters, sir? But only you are permitted to have these."

"They're far more than mobile emitters, Lucas. They are---your morphers."

Jack Bowman finally spoke up, practically leaping from his chair.

"Sir, you don't mean we're---? "

Jenkins smiled.

"A great new day has begun. Itay's army will be met by a force of good photons. Henceforth, you are not merely the first holographic-based cadets in Starfleet—"

He bid them put on the devices, which clothed them instantly in the costumes they would wear to conceal their true identities. Jacob Church, clothed in red, seemed put off by this.

"---now, you are The Power Rangers."

* * *

The Doctor, for his part, failed to understand why no one besides Tom Paris liked this idea. Nevertheless, for reasons no one can explain, it became a genuine galactic phenomenon.


	8. Spare Parts

Spare Parts  
by Rob Morris

One of Forty-Seven addressed the other drones in its adjunct. The odd situation  
demanded more than the usual unspoken relays.

"The Central Hive Is Clear. The Pursuit Is Not to Be Broken, under any  
circumstance."

Thirty felt compelled by its main directives to object.

"The expenditure of resources would be better directed on targets less  
specially hardened against us. The opposition's tractor beam technology is  
nearly as adaptive as our own, and is more chaotically applied, making it  
harder to negate."

Fourteen felt its directives to be in similar conflict.

"This species is known for its acquisitiveness. It stands apart from others in  
its efficiency in these matters. Codex: Ruthless. Though an irrelevant term to  
the Collective, when applied to non-Borg life, heavy peril is implied. Peril  
that could extend Collective-wide, were this greater adjunct to be made part of  
their acquisitions."

One's response was not at all surprising.

"These factors have been noted. Yet this one species contains in it many  
others, a result of its peril-causing behavior. This makes its value  
immeasurable. The pursuit will not be broken. Disperse and continue.

One knew that Borg didn't feel chills. But in its mind was the distinct,  
inerasable memory of a chill at facing this particular species, as dread to the  
man he once was as had been the Borg.

On the other ship, similar notions to those raised on the Borg transport were  
similarly dismissed out of hand.

"Are you mad? Do you know how many species are on that one ship? It's like a  
gourmet feast, to those of our--unique needs. It's a prize beyond price, and we  
will not lose them for anything."

And into the long cosmic night, equally hungry to reduce the other to a  
disturbing final service, Borg pursued Vidian, the fates at a loss as to whom  
to lend their favor to in this fight over flesh.


	9. The Nightmare Continues

**The Nightmare Continues**  
by Rob Morris

USS VOYAGER, LATE 2372

Chakotay walked into Sickbay, and activated the EMH.

"Doctor, the Captain wants to know if you've recovered as yet. That holodeck excursion was quite a nightmare."

The Doctor still looked shaken. His descent into an amalgamation of his own experiences as EMH, the life of his creator, Doctor Lewis Zimmerman, and the influence of Reginald Barclay had nearly undone him.

"Nightmare doesn't even begin to describe it, Commander. There was the question of whether or not I was a malfunctioning hologram or a programmer who'd gone insane."

Chakotay felt chills. There had been an insane Bajoran Vedek, a recruiter for the Maquis, who broke Starfleet prisoners by making them alternately believe they were back safe at home and then locked away as traitors in the next breath. He prayed never to see this man again, even if it meant failure in Voyager's quest to get home.

"What else did you see in there, Doctor?"

"Well, there were fleeting nanoseconds when I became some of you. Mister Kim dated a reanimated corpse of some kind."

Chakotay smiled inside. That was Harry, after all. The EMH continued.

"Mister Paris opened a 21st Century Memorabilia Shop. Miss Torres explored Earth's moon in a ship fired from a cannon. You were the last survivor of an odd Apocalypse. Captain Janeway became a private investigator. And these were hardly the most bizarre of the visions."

"Well, what was the very strangest thing you saw, Doctor?"

The EMH gathered himself.

"Commander, from the time I activated today to the day I finally decompile, I will always be left with this one, final question...."

He turned away, then turned back again and looked straight into Chakotay's eyes.

"....Who in blazes was that little man with the cheese on his head?"


	10. Nicked!

**Nicked**  
By Rob Morris

2370, Auckland Penal Rehabilitation Colony, Earth

"So what do you think of New Zealand?"

"Hey, I like it fine. Anyplace like this penal colony that can keep Tom Paris confined and out of trouble is good with me."

Tom desperately tried to recall a time when there had been civility between himself and his identical twin first cousin, Nicholas Locarno. Try as he might, though, it was actually easier to remember the times his Dad had forgiven his failures. And there were few things rarer than that. But Tom had learned to wait with Nick. This time, Mister Perfect would feel just a little less so.

"I hear that you've been accepted back into the Academy. Congratulations."

"Well, graduating from the Academy at the top of my class has been what my entire life has led towards. The fallout from Crusher's betrayal is largely behind me, now. Takes notes, Tom : Even expulsion can be overcome, by hard work, discipline, and perseverance. Taking immediate responsibility for my actions helped, kind of like not doing so hurt you, and as it hurt Uncle Owen."

After a lifetime of taking the bait, Tom Paris was a fish that would not be hooked. His tone remained civil and he maintained a level of emotional self-control that even his future shipmate, Tuvok, might have trouble with, given the same history.

"It sure did hurt him. Tell me, how are the other members of the squadron doing these days?"

Tom fought not to smile at the obvious crack in Nick's calm, and he succeeded.

"One is dead to me. One was killed by Cardassians. One died by their own hand. Some say I'm responsible for that--pressure, and other weak talk. Say, what's your take on that, cousin?"

A trap was laid, but Tom had expected that. Nick Locarno couldn't know that he and Tom had already had this conversation about 300 times in simulations.

"Way I see it, Nick--those others involved with the maneuver---you weren't holding a gun to their head. Any more than you held one to my head during those pranks when we were kids. People usually do whatever they want to, and most of us rise or fall on our own actions, kind of like I did."

A trap was laid--and Nick walked right straight into it. Being Nick, he had no choice in the matter.

"Ha! I never, ever thought I'd hear those words from the family failure."

The trap was closed, now, and the teeth were laced with a sedative poison. It would cost Nick more than his trapped leg to be free--if he ever could be free.

"Hey, I know I'm a failure. Not only am I a failure, but I am a genuine failure. My days of getting away with things by squeaking by and ducking responsibility are over. People have seen me for what I am. Nick, what happens when people see you for what you are?"

"I don't follow. You just admitted to me that you are a genuine failure, and people know it. People know that I am a genuine success."

Nick reestablished his position too late. Tom had that position nailed, and was proceeding with bombardment.

"Its not the success that's in question, Nick. Not any more, anyway. When we reprogrammed the transporters to strip selected female personnel at my Dad's starbase, you succeeded. You saw what you wanted to see, and then took full responsibility for being ringleader. My Dad was actually impressed. Punished us both equally, but you got raised up in his eyes for owning up to it. Then, all of fourteen, we grabbed a runabout, determined to see the Cardassian front. You owned up then, too, Nick, while I tried to duck. The same actions kept making you look better and better. I won't bore you with the thousand other incidents. Now, Wesley Crusher leaves Starfleet, and the word is, they are glad to be rid of him. For some reason, anyone with prior Fleet experience makes the practical minds at the Academy nervous. One version went that they were disturbed at how well he went through his first ambush simulation. They like to mold cadets, rather than the other way around. Now you, as squad leader and ramrod of the group--the one who owned up to all that--they happily and cheerfully let reapply, and even restore some of your more important credits. Mark my words, you'll be a Commander in five years, Nick."

Tom knew the angry, confused face across from him. It was his own face, in more ways than one. When he covered up his fatal error. When he confessed. When he went Maquis, and when he was caught. It was the face of someone running a perfect scam, on the verge of losing his temper.

"What the hell has this got to do with a traitor like Crusher and a confessed failure like you?"

Tom shrugged, again in a unemotional way.

"Who cares about Crusher, or me, for that matter? It's established that I got away with things by ducking responsibility until I couldn't anymore. But now, it's also been established how you get away with things."

Nick's cocky laugh was, Tom knew, a last layer of defense, and he relished it.

"Do tell, Mister Genuine Failure. How do I get away with things?"

Tom had heard lots of cell doors slam shut, but the one he heard in his mind actually sounded sweet.

"It should be obvious, Nick. As opposed to ducking responsibility like I do, you got away with things by taking responsibility for them. You never stopped doing the same sort of things, mind you, but each time, you moved up in--certain people's eyes."

Again, Tom heard a voice much his own.

"You--are delusional--and self-absorbed. And again I quote Tom Paris--You are a genuine failure."

Tom never even once raised his voice. That fact and the broad smile that followed told Nick everything. But again, this knowledge came too late to save him.

"I am a genuine failure, Nick, the real thing. Better that, though, than a phony success--which is what you are. Know two things, Locarno--there is always one person who sees your method for what it is, and he only regrets that his own innate stupidity will surely prevent him from being there to see your exposure. One day, you will take responsibility--and they will force you to keep it."

The gritted teeth said it all as Tom got up to leave. Nick was furious, and in his mind, invented many reasons why this was so--other than the truth contained in Tom's words.

"Anything ELSE, PRISONER!!?"

Tom turned back and looked his double in the eye.

"Nope. Nothing else. Dismissed, Cadet."

Tom wasn't a praying man. But he did ask Heaven later on to forgive him on behalf of whoever got in Nick's way on the transport back--and he gave thanks that he was not that person.

* * *

Three Months After The End Of The Dominion War, Starfleet HQ, Earth.

"Captain Locarno, it is established that you broke off your support of the Romulan Fleet on our vital mission to take Cardassia Prime to instead attempt to take out the Dominion's Main Polar Orbital Battle Platform. This led to the near collapse of those lines, and Defiant being forced to sacrifice much of its battle group in the ensuing chaos, as we all regrouped. What say you before these cold hard facts?"

Inwardly, Nick reminded himself to keep to his routine. The routine that had seen him to a Captaincy over a small ship and would, by his calculations, have him up for a run at whatever replaced the Sovereign Class, down the road.

"Sir, obviously a demotion is in order. I take full responsibility for my actions, and those of my crew. I will go wherever you send me."

He would, too, no matter how far below him the place or the task was. These things never lasted long, and they usually begged him to come back around.

The presiding Admiral hadn't told Nick that Tom Paris had once sent a letter to Starfleet Command, praising his cousin and how he always took responsibility for everything. Command saw through Tom's code-talking. But the hard truth of his words was evident, then as now. The Admiral smiled, and shook his head. He almost felt sorry for Nick-almost.

"So."

Locarno nodded, and smiled back.

"So, sir."

"So."

"So---what---Sir?"

There hadn't been any tone in Nick's voice then, but there would be soon. The Admiral asked one last thing.

"So what do you think of New Zealand?"

**Nicked Again!**  
By Rob Morris

AUCKLAND PENAL COLONY, 2377

"So what do you think of New Zealand?"

Owen Paris tried to find the right words to speak with his imprisoned nephew. Just as Nick Locarno's mother had been the Admiral's birth-twin, Nick was the spitting image of Tom Paris, so very far away on the other side of the galaxy. It was always somewhat unnerving. Now it was downright eerie. 

"Nicholas--how are you doing, son?"

The sneer on the young man's face made Owen wonder if even a tough number like Kathryn could have done any good. At least with Tom, the sneer was always tempered with resolve. Here, it was just a sneer.

"Oh---just ducky! Prison life so agrees with a former top-flight cadet. But hey, it did wonders for Tommy-Gun, didn't it?"

"Nicholas, your cousin and you had your differences, it's true. I'm not too fond of the thought that he invited you here to lay a verbal trap, some years ago. But now, he and his crew---he and the crew he serves with--are fighting to get home to us."

Nick's look was of a man dismissing what was said to him before it was even thought of.

"Please, please, PLEASE spare me another recitation of the bravery of the valiant crew of The USS Voyager. Uncle Owen, here's something I'll bet you never noticed. In the transmission that they sent--your beloved son got himself demoted--for guess what?"

Owen shook his head.

"For a level 4 violation of The Prime Directive. I have read all the reports, Nicholas. Did you read the part where Kathryn Janeway makes it clear that Tom's punishment was something that she had to do? In drips and drabs, even her most senior officers were ignoring direct orders. But I'll say this--they've held together through some awesome times. That crew is going to be commended when they get back in ways we have never seen before."

Nick shrugged.

"A tub--full of Maquis, Borg, and assorted losers like Tommy-Gun gets itself lost in what is essentially the Borg Quadrant, and everyone wants to hand them a medal. I, on the other hand, take a valid strategic gamble during the final battle of The Dominion War--and I get put here. Justice is a lot more than blind."

Owen kept his temper, but nonetheless challenged Nick's version of events.

"The crew of Voyager, even down to the worst screw-up--who is not Thomas, by the way--needs no defense from me. As to the rest, I'll say this. You attempted to take out the Northern Polar Battle Platform above Cardassia Prime. This battle platform was twenty-five times the size of the average Dominion platform. By not concentrating your ship's weaponry on the main platforms, as you were ordered to do, former Captain Locarno, you cost us a vital Romulan flank, your own expensive Defiant-class ship and most of its crew, and almost cost us the Defiant-A, as well. Had Captain Sisko not vanished directly after the War, he would have been howling in rage at your tribunal. As it stood--only some brief written words made it in. That is the difference between the five years you received and the fifteen years you well might have. My God, Nicholas! You got off lightly."

Locarno's laughter was full of contempt.

"Lightly? This prison is not light, Uncle Owen. Do you realize what this is going to do to my career track? This is the biggest setback I've suffered since Crusher stabbed me in the back after our Kolvoord attempt. Heh. I thought I owned that kid. But Picard messed with his head, jumbled up his senses of duty and loyalty. But--in one way or another, those three losers are out of Starfleet."

Owen winced. While Crusher was alright, off who-knew-where, one of the other Nova Squadron members had died on a mission which placed her in way over her head. The last had hung herself in her quarters in a scandal the Academy would probably never recover from. Nick's career track was finished. So why couldn't he recognize that? Tom had once told Owen that his mistakes were his own problem. But he resented being compared to Nick, whom he accused of being a phony. Owen hadn't listened, because Tom kept screwing up and ducking the blame, while Nick always took full responsibility.

Looking back, Owen realized, Tom had never ducked quite as often as Nick took. So why did he draw his sister's son close and push his own away? Granted, Tom was a true pain at times, and no saint. But perhaps his redemption lay in that he never claimed to be.

"Nicholas, I want to help you. I have news, which may just..."

Locarno cut his uncle off.

"Help? Help? I wanted your help at the tribunal. You could've quashed all this, and right now I'd be working my way back up. I was NEVER supposed to go to prison, Owen. Never. You could have kept Tommy-Gun's barbed letter, damning me with faint praise, out of the Presiding Officer's view. You did neither. As for your news---well, unless you are here to tell me that Voyager burned up on re-entry into Earth's atmosphere, well then, I don't really much care, do I?"

With a start, Admiral Paris realized that his last conversation with his twin sister had been an angry one in a penal colony. History was repeating itself, both times as tragedy.

"Goodbye, Nicholas. And watch what you say about the Maquis--this place has plenty of them, last I checked."

"Just leave."

Owen did that, without so much as a backward glance. The docu-padd he was carrying was tossed into a nearby recycler and was quickly gone, like so much else now certainly was.

Outside, Reg Barclay took in the beautiful landscape. He greeted his sponsor.

"So, Admiral--how did Nick take the news? I'll bet he's happy."

Owen smiled at the younger man, who, for all his many quirks, was a good and reliable friend.

"No news is good news, Reg. I didn't tell him. I changed my mind, based on what I saw in there. Or, based on who I saw. Her name was Nicolette. She was beautiful, but always so angry. She was the person with whom I shared a birthday, but who would never share anything else without a fight. She fought bullies for me, but later in a snit tried to convince me my wife was unfaithful, when they didn't get along. Our mother would say I was cake, and Nicolette was icing. Took me years to realize she meant it as a compliment. Our sons are both just like us. God help me."

"He-he gave you an attitude, sir?"

"To put it mildly. So, it ends. Instead of going in there and telling my nephew that I'm getting him released almost three years early---I now have no nephew. I'll call the board and recommend he stay his full term. They left it up to me as a courtesy. I'd just as soon they hadn't."

Reg nodded.

"Does-does he think he's innocent of what he was court-martialed for?"

Owen shook his head.

"Nope. He thinks he's persecuted."

Reg squinted at that thought.

"Its frankly amazing to me how some people can just live in a fantasy world like that. Mine are always such happy places."

Glad at least that Barclay was away from his work and in the air and sun for at least one day, a very wise Admiral decided to count this mess as a learning experience.

"So, Reg."

"So--Admiral."

"So, Reg."

"So--er, what, Admiral?"

"So what do you think of New Zealand?"

After a moment's awkward silence, Paris clarified the question.

"By that of course, I meant the climate."


	11. The Odd Conversation

**The Odd Conversation**  
by Rob Morris

Seven of Nine accessed the Holo-Program that had been recommended to her. Concerns such as she had would trouble almost anyone. To a former Borg, these feelings were completely unacceptable. Before her appeared a young man of approximately 20 years of age. He regarded her.

"What species are you?"

"I am called Seven of Nine. I am Human, however much of my life was spent in the Borg Collective. I still retain my nanoprobes, and much of my conditioning."

"Apparently. So how can I help you?"

"In fact, I am almost certain you cannot."

"Try me."

"I shall. But first, a question. Why do you appear approximately 2 to 3 years older than your file image dating from your service aboard the Enterprise?"

"Oh, that. Well, this holo is the result of some public service I had to perform. Apparently, Starfleet wanted a gesture of good faith that my leaving the Academy was not going to be followed by defection to the Maquis. So, at the Traveler's behest, I agreed to a month's worth of questions, so that this program would be able to accurately re-create the depth of my Starfleet experience, brief though it was."

"I see. Before my main query, another side issue. That of your near-expulsion from the Academy. I find it an odd parallel to the experiences of myself as an Ex-Borg learning the vagaries of human behavior and many on this crew who are former Maquis, sometimes still confounded by Starfleet strictures."

"Not much to say. I forgot my common sense, ignored what I knew to be right, and allowed a charismatic squadron leader to lead me into a dangerous-and for one cadet, fatal-situation. Whatever I accomplish in life that will stay with me. Again, I'm not excusing myself, but our squadron leader could have talked us into taking Romulus with a shuttle. Part of me has wondered why I didn't question him more often and more strongly. I mean, hell, I challenged Captain Picard in battle, and on his Bridge, *before* I was made Acting Ensign. So why couldn't I just say no to a fellow cadet?"

"The Collective urge is strong, even among humans. When that rare cohesion is found, the most remarkable and the most monstrous of events soon follow. As to your squadron leader, he is First Cousin to our own Mister Paris, who has regaled us with stories of pranks he was talked into on many occasions. It would seem his cousin had a talent for leading people into trouble. Oddly, his confessions of responsibility raised him up in the eyes of his Uncle, Admiral Owen Paris. This, too, was a source of consternation to Mister Paris in his parental relations."

"Seven, what was your main question for me? This program's main user will be here, soon enough."

"Yes, of course. Just a few days ago, an overlarge organic creature caused the crew to believe that it was a portal back to the Alpha Quadrant. It further caused them to believe that their fondest wishes lay waiting for them on Earth. As I stood between them and a rush to judgment, they became quite aggressive, even to the point of what humans call obnoxiousness. I and our Doctor, who is an enhanced EMH, were summarily shut down."

"Well, well. It rains in the Delta Quadrant, too. I know, I know. It's a turn of phrase. Now let me guess. You snapped them out of it, beat the creature, and you think all should be well, but it isn't."

"Not the precise pattern of events, but basically accurate. As I have wandered the ship, I have found my dealings with the crew to be marked by an unreasoning tension. I have noted this before, but now this tension comes not from them, but from myself. I was told you can explain this feeling."

"Actually, this is pretty easy. For a time, your friends were your enemies, and none of them would listen to you. You got to see firsthand just how terrifying they can be in action, no matter how clever you yourself were. It's just like that Ktarian game trap Commander Riker brought back from Risa. For once, not even my own Mother's voice was a comfort. When I saw Worf coming after me, I suddenly remembered that my old friend is a REALLY big Klingon, and that Captain Picard and Commander Riker are unrelenting in the pursuit of a foe. They got me, but by that point I had reactivated Data, so he snapped them out of it. Still, I resented them all, in my thoughts."

"Resented them? Despite demonstrative proof of an alien narcotic influence?"

"Sure. I don't care what Starfleet tells you, or Borg detachment says is supposed to happen. When the people you care about turn on you, however valid or outside their control the reason might be, you feel it in your heart. Seven, have you accessed the files on a Doctor Richard Kimble? Despite everything, he was never able to forgive neighbors who sat on the jury that wrongly convicted him. Or perhaps the Kirk program, and the crew abandonment on the 'Paradise' of Omicron Ceti 3. His logs indicate a man just this side of assaulting his entire crew, despite his resilience."

I shall look up this Kimble. As to the Kirk program, it made a pass at me."

The holo-Wesley Crusher laughed.

"Sorry. I think someone must have played with its parameters, maybe as a prank on you."

"Chief Engineer Torres I shall speak to later. How, then, did you resolve your feelings of resentment toward those whom you held dear?"

"I...went in a holo-chamber, back at the Academy, and beat them all up. Not my Mom, though. I just slapped her across the face. Crude, I know, but it worked. I won't ever do it again, but I had to let it out. I mean, I heard Captain Picard recording his log, before I left, saying getting me off would get things back to normal."

"But it was Riker who brought the Game on board. Intriguing. Perhaps he knew you were listening?"

"Maybe. But the whole thing threw me off my mark more than I knew. The next time I was on board, and I had Geordi-my pal-shouting "CADET" right straight in my ear half the time, I realized that Starfleet was a place where you're supposed to let those things go, and I couldn't. Irrational, Illogical, yeah. But definitely real."

Just then, in walked Naomi Wildman, the program's main user.

"Hey, Seven. Wes, are you ready?"

"In a second, kiddo. Anything else, Seven?"

"No. But this has been most informative and enlightening. I fail to see why it is said that your application skills are lacking."

"Seven? Who says my application skills are lacking?"

With that, Seven departed.

"What's today's lesson, Wes?"

"Seventh rule of shipboard life for kids, Naomi. Never save the day too often--no matter what they say later, they just don't like it in the slightest."

Later, Seven returned to the holodeck.

"Computer. Access Seven-A, Torres/Engineering."

Both subject and setting shimmered into existence. Be'lanna snarled.

"What do you want, BORG?!"

Seven balled her hand into a fist, and sent Torres flying into the Warp Core with one punch. Later, she dealt with Tuvok by throwing him through the deck above and the Captain by causing a hull breach in her ready room. After all was done, she stared at her fist, and lightly smiled.

"Fascinating."


	12. Bodhisattva

**Bodhisattva**  
by Rob Morris

(Set during the alternate timeline depicted in 'Endgame')

USS VOYAGER, 2375

"Captain, taking the alien aboard may prove unwise. As your Chief of Security---"

"You still answer to me, Mister Tuvok. Tom, Harry, lay in the appropriate course. Something to add, Mister Chakotay?"

"Only that the alien has offered us no guarantees. All he's done is make a rather demand-like request for transport."

"Noted. But space is a demanding place, and is known to offer no guarantees. We'll go my way on this one."

"Course plotted and set, Captain. Are we good enough that I can hit the refresher for a minute?"

"Tom, you hardly have to ask permission if we're not in battle or on alert."

"I'm just being mindful of my recent walk over the eggshells, Ma'am."

"Belay that. You paid your tab with a pip. It's done."

Tom nodded, and accessed the small refresher area.

"Computer--Paris White Noise Program One."

Waiting a second after he did what he had to, Tom spoke in a full voice without yelling.

"Yeah, Captain--Your Way On This One And On Every Other One, Too. Why even ask us?---Computer, turn off fan and WNP1."

He half-expected Janeway to have somehow heard him, but she barely even noticed he was gone.

"That was quick."

"Yeah, well—it's not like I have anyone to talk to in there, Captain."

* * *

TWO DAYS LATER

Chakotay heard the chime at the door to his quarters.

"Come."

It was Tom Paris, wearing the noncommittal mask he had worn since his demotion and imprisonment.

"May I come in, Commander?"

"Sit down, Tom. I think I saw this coming. But wear your true face here, please. I find that one a trifle insulting. So would Kathryn, if she were thinking clearly."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted--as long as you meet my terms."

The frown on Tom's face was disconcerting, but honest.

"Chakotay--we have four devoured crewmen. It's only by a flat miracle that Harry was able to save Naomi."

"It's no miracle. She and Harry will always possess a bond. They have the same vibrational frequency. They'll probably even die on the same day."

"I'm no mystic, and my point is--that thing did not need to be brought aboard. It seems like she has a staff, and not a crew. Unless they are part of her overall plan, most suggestions are dismissed before they are voiced-particularly your advice, Chakotay. How can you be her XO when she treats you with such contempt?"

Chakotay stood up, and walked around, uncertain of how to explain what he had to say.

"That's simple, Tom. I'm not her XO. This ship hasn't had an XO since you recovered the ship from The Kazon, or at least since we lost Kes. No, I'm just next senior officer. This ship is run by fiat, Captain Janeway's fiat. I'm a creature of the background, now. Get used to it--because I have."

Paris found that all the dark thoughts he had felt about the near-vanishing of the ship's First Officer were being given voice—by the man himself.

"I can't believe you're saying all this. Chakotay--you just declared yourself useless. I'm sorry, but how can you do your job, believing that?"

"Hold on, Paris. I said I wasn't XO--I never said I served no purpose. My function rivals Be'lanna's engines in terms of its importance. I am a Hayoka."

"Gesundheit. Okay, I'll bite--what is a Hayoka?"

"Among my people, a Hayoka is a shaman chosen by The Unseen Guides to take the evil of the world unto himself. When he dies, The Guides grab up that evil and burn it, ending its threat forever. I served that function with The Maquis. And not too long after I left----"

Scared that he was falling into all this, Tom completed Chakotay's words.

"The Maquis fell under the control of glory-hounds like Eddington-and were destroyed. No, that has to be a coincidence. What about all the bad things? What about poor Durst? That Vidian slime cut his face off to try and impress Be'lanna! Where were you then?"

Chakotay remained calm; as well he might, moving in realms that were as familiar to him as the gas clouds in The Badlands.

"That wasn't my job. This ship has had at least five Hayokas, and each has served a different purpose. That type of evil is what I've come to call the 'Hungry Ghost' syndrome. Like dead, vengeful spirits, groups like The Kazon, The Vidians, and many others when this journey started saw us as a collection of spare parts, to be used as soon as they could get their hands on us. But one of us was far too clever. She took their appetites and caused them to become sloppy, and mistake-prone. She ultimately absorbed far too much chaos and had to leave us. Mark me, though, she will be back, having destroyed a series of still greater evils."

"Kes. Ok--was it her or you that made the Maquis-Starfleet tensions disappear? In for a penny, in for a pound, Sir."

Chakotay suppressed a grin. Tom understood him very well and even believing, sarcasm aside.

"Neither. It was Tuvok. Clever like Coyote, he trapped that nascent rebellion in his secret holo-simulation. Unfortunately, like another, more animated Coyote, his trap backfired when Seska's evil set it against him. But his cleverness worked in its first goal. Yet he was Kes's teacher, and her errors were his. Without knowing it, he is trying to capture the tensions of an entire crew towards its Captain. If he does not change his approach, I fear for our stoic friend, Tom. Especially if-his time should arrive, and we are not back home."

The strange words made a kind of over-sense to Tom, so he canned most of his further quips.

"Alright, so who are numbers four and five?"

"Easy. Seven arrived to deal with The Time Draggers. They are ancient things that trick you into giving up your whole life in exchange for a false promise of changing the past. Seven will, in her way, keep reminding us that things are almost exactly as they were meant to be. Those countless temporal anomalies--are only the beginning of our troubles with The Keepers Of Days--and I don't mean Braxton, either."

Tom went for broke.

"Who--is number five? Be'lanna, because she represents dichotomy?"

"You think too small, Tom. Dichotomy is nothing. No, the fifth is the ship's center of gravity, that person who defines the ship's true direction. That individual takes in the evils of misdirection and purposelessness. The others all count on him to keep things even, and then trust nature to provide the rest."

"Him? Weren't you just talking about Captain Janeway?"

"No. Kathryn is at the top of this ship, not the center. She is a brilliant Captain, and she will get this ship home. But having been the victim of the Caretaker's selfish, desperate, unthinking evil, she can never be Hayoka--nor was she ever meant to be. C'mon, Tom. Make the connection. You know who this ship turns to, when it can't find the way. Think about how you gathered the evil of The Captain's resentment towards those of us who had violated her orders, and took it unto yourself."

"So it's me? I'm the fifth Hayoka?"

"Who better? Unlike the rest of us, you can take in nearly infinite evil and destroy it before your death."

"Let's say I accept this. What do I do from here? How do I use what you've told me?"

"Simple. You Wake Up, Tom."

* * *

A POSSIBLE FUTURE

"Wake up, Tom! The Captain needs you on The Bridge."

He knew this was coming, ever since the most recent losses.

"You can take Miral today? It was my turn."

Torres nodded.

"The Doctor made a non-painful hemming-in field for me to set up near my office. We'll be good."

Paris made a quick courtesy call on secured quarters, perhaps pushing his luck a bit, but Janeway would understand.

"Mister Paris."

"You know, no one demanded that you lock yourself up. You're not so far gone that you can't work reduced duty."

Tuvok shook his head.

"My thanks, Tom. But like Mister Suder before me, it is no longer the certainty that I might lash out, but rather the possibility, that we must beware of. A certainty can be planned against. A possibility can actually be more dangerous, doubly so with my knowledge of ship's systems and procedures."

Tom was on a deadline, and so chose not to point out that a semi-lucid Tuvok still had enough chops to easily get out of his cyber-locked quarters if he really wanted to. The trip to the Bridge was a quick enough one, though pressure did its job to make it feel exactly the reverse.

"Sorry for the delay, Captain. I think that if I don't annoy Tuvok at least once a day, he gets upset."

For the first time since he had known her, Tom Paris saw the strains of command fully visible on Kathryn Janeway's face.

"I'm glad you do. I haven't been to see him since the away mission went nova on us. In case you haven't guessed already, that's why you're here.

Paris sat down as she bid.

"I had guessed. That takes me out of Security, but I think Gerron is ready to step up. He's been praying to the Prophets for Tuvok's recovery. Problem is, if what the Doc is saying is true, it would take a divine force or a Q to make him well again. Ma'am, are you sure you don't want Harry? He obeys. I've been known to have a problem with that."

"Harry's been in Astrometrics since we lost Annika, and that's where I want him. He has that extra pip he went on about forever, he's been brilliant at it, and he's bringing the kids up to speed for when the time comes."

*Big Sister*, he thought, *you look so damned tired.*

"Tom, this ship just lost its first officer. Can you and will you replace him?"

Paris shrugged.

"I can take over as First Officer. But as to replacing Chakotay? No in a lot of respects. Including, I'm afraid, putting up with your crap, Captain."

She breathed in, quite audibly.

"Explain and defend that statement."

"I will. Chakotay needed to step aside, so that this very lost ship would not also become a divided one. By shutting himself down long before you ever did, he gave this ship a unity some crews who started out together never get. But he forgot or never learned how to step forward again. I can't be that way. I have to be a real First Officer, and sometimes, that means forcing the Captain to listen when she does not want to. You override me, that's your right, but we do it quietly. You are the Captain of Voyager. You no longer need to prove that to the people you raised up and trained, if you ever did. You're one of the greats, Kathryn. We are some of your best work, so if you want me to ramrod for you, you also have to listen to us one hell of a lot more than you have."

The fact that she wasn't exploding in raw fury gave him hope.

"You have something on your mind, as regards my not listening?"

"Frankly, yes. Harry warned you that the newly-in-love Annika was ignoring away team safety procedures. We all warned you that Tuvok was not recovering well from the Borg and then the Maquis mental intrusions. No one should have had to warn you that a First Officer with a badly broken heart was taking unnecessary risks with his life. You put me in that seat as your back-up, than back up is what you will have to do on the odd occasion. Not because I'm always right, but because no is always right, even you."

Janeway seemed honestly taken aback.

"Did I get that bad?"

"You needed to be that bad—or rather that way. We were alone, and the only thing we seemed to have an ample supply of was shuttlecrafts. Now, we have regular contact with Starfleet and contacts across the quadrant—including the odd folks here and there who claim they know us, and that we helped them out before we ever met them."

Janeway nodded.

"Never have figured that one out, but I'll take what free love I can get. You're saying this is a new era?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I have to step up to earn this position back from you, and you need to step up to a Kathryn Janeway more like the one you would have been, minus the Caretaker. We're still in a desperate situation, but thanks to you and Chakotay, rest his soul, it's a very different kind of desperate. You'll still take the reins hard, sometimes—that's just a given. But you can best honor the man whose job I'm taking by using the capital he helped you build with this crew."

She sighed.

"No promises, Tom. But I am listening. Make up a report by week's end, in-between doing your new job. One last thing."

"Ma'am?"

"Is there anyone on this ship who you think could force me to listen, issues of rank and protocol aside?"

Paris smiled.

"Even with your position put aside, Captain—the only person who could ever win that kind of argument with you—is you."

He left, remembering the dream of Chakotay from a happier time, and never truly realizing that the ship's last remaining Hayoka had given his Captain a new direction to follow. For in a time still to come, Admiral Janeway would again heed his words about winning an argument with herself. When she undertook steps to alter the timeline and bring Voyager home after only seven years, one of her chief steps in planning involved practice holo-arguments with her third Executive Officer, using the confidence given her by the second to hold that position.

After all, it was the only way Kathryn Janeway could ever hope to win an argument with Kathryn Janeway.


	13. Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before

**Stop Me If You've Heard This One**  
by Rob Morris

Starfleet Cadet Be'lanna Torres sat and waited at the Alpha Centauri Prime Way-Station. She had sat and waited for five hours; she would do so for five hours more, before giving up. Again, she approached the clerk, to who by now she was a familiar face. The Andorian stopped her as she approached.

"I know. His name is Torres, and he was supposed to have already been here, but he is not."

When Be'lanna's face showed only disappointment, rather than the anger of only an hour ago, the clerk's attitude softened a bit.

"You know, sometimes family obligations are the hardest to meet. Things come up, almost at random."

She wanted no pity, but Be'lanna saw no reason to start anything.

"That's kind of you. Especially when the story goes that Andorians will fly through novae, if need be, to meet a family obligation."

The older man's antennae sagged a little, a sure sign of sympathy.

"So you're at Starfleet Academy. Before I retired, I was Starfleet. Could have been Xo aboard the first Enterprise, after the Mitchell incident. But Kirk promoted you-know-who, and the rest, as they say, is history. My name's Thelin. Ms. Torres, what you're doing to yourself is a crime. For a family member to disregard another as you have obviously been..."

Be'lanna grabbed him, at that. But the Andorian had a knife, and showed it.

"Put me down, girlie. I used to eat your mother's ancestors after hand-to-hand, and I mean REAL Klingons, not the 'Vulcans-with-Bat'leths' of today. Geez, did I just say that? Bigoted old man. Be'lanna, sit down. Please."

A tear emerged from her eye, as she let Thelin down.

"Are-are you gonna call security?"

"Why? Nothing happened. I only call security on Nausicaans. That kind of bigotry, I don't apologize for. One last thing, kid."

"Yes?"

"Tough out the Academy. It can be a real pain, trust me. But it tends to be worth it."

"How-could you know that I was having a hard time?"

"Easy. Your forehead has all kinds of worry lines. The place changes you. Why, before the first Andorian went to the Academy, we didn't even have antennae."

Be'lanna tried not to smile at the species-driven humor, but failed.

"So long as you don't tell me to get friendly with the gardener."

Thelin stopped typing at the terminal.

"Is that old Martian still there? Just give me some hope. Tell me he stopped using the name 'O'Hara'."

"Er, we all just know him as 'Boothby'."

"Ha! Told him he'd have to give it up."

Thelin promised to inform her of any arrivals, so Be'lanna sat back down. A voice came from next to her.

"They aren't going to show."

Be'lanna turned and saw a woman, a Klingon-human hybrid like herself, but with features that ran just a bit more Imperial than her own. Her voice was that one that seemed designed for sarcasm.

"Who isn't going to show?"

The woman had a bit of the know-it-all in her arch features.

"Your non-Klingon parent, of course. This is where all Klingon hybrids wait for the non-Klingon. Myself, I've logged whole months here. What's your name?"

"If it's any of your business, my name is Be'lanna Torres. And my father will show."

Her unwanted companion smiled, and it was damned disconcerting seeing someone who looked so Klingon with such straight, clean teeth.

"Denial---with attitude! I like that. Wanna go out?"

"Noooo!!!"

The increasingly annoying woman laughed.

"Sorry. Really. In my case, I was just kidding. But Klingons are still the only species around you can get a rise out of with that kind of joke."

Be'lanna looked around for any signs of her father.

"I--don't like Klingon racial jokes. They disgust me."

"Why? We're really the only ones who can legit tell them. I know some doozies. By the way, my name is Trapper. Trapper Joan McIntyre."

Be'lanna eyed her chatty companion warily; certain she was being set up for another dumb joke.

"You'll excuse me, but that isn't a very Klingon name."

Trapper Joan shrugged.

"McIntyre is my granddad's name. Trapper Joan is a family derivative. My Klingon name is an Imperial derivative that means, 'The Cager Of Prey', or 'Trapper'."

Be'lanna thought for a second.

"Then why not just use the name, 'Keh'lyr'?"

Trapper shrugged.

"The only people who use Keh'lyr on me are officials, my frequently angry parents, or Worf. I like being Trapper. Have you ever heard of a man named Hawkeye Pierce?"

Be'lanna frowned.

"Nope. Never heard of him. I also never heard of Kirk, Kor, Surak, S'Tassk, or Emperor Kahless."

"Temper, temper. So you know the story. Well, my ancestor, one Trapper John McIntyre, was instrumental in helping the Pierces beat the twin conspiracies. So it's a name I wear--if you'll pardon the expression-with honor."

"Thanks for sharing. Do you really think he just won't show?"

"Has he before?"

Be'lanna was now very annoyed. This woman seemed to know her situation inside and out.

"I suppose you'll tell me I'm being a fool."

"No. But your father is. He's decided that the troubles between you and your mother should include you as a target. And I'll bet your Mom spends whole days telling you how much you're acting like him-that is, when you speak at all."

Torres hung her head. Trapper had her bagged, and up on the wall.

"Been there, done that, huh, McIntyre? Any other pieces of wisdom to impart, O High Priestess Of Half-Breeds---I can't believe I just said that."

Trapper laughed.

"Why not? It's funny. I have some wisdom, sure. I just gotta keep an eye on the clock. My son should arrive soon. "

Be'lanna was curious.

"You have a son?"

"My dear Alexander is the son of Worf Rozehnko. Yes, THAT Worf."

"Wow! I've heard so many things about him. I've tried to use him as an inspiration at the Academy--without much success."

"Oh, please! An inspiration? Let me tell you something about the magnificent brute, Worf. Let me tell you something about all the stories that have built up around him, and his mighty prowess. Each and every one of them---are true."

"Do you two get along? Does he like his son?"

"Hmmm. No, only sometimes, and he doesn't know he has a son. He will in about a month, when I go aboard Enterprise again. Old K'mpec is about to buy it, and it's the title bout of Duras vs. Gowron for the Chancellery. I'm kind of an unheralded Ambassador. But that's how I like it. Fame is a joke."

Be'lanna rubbed her hands. She would have to take the next transport back, and work hard not to curse her father's name.

"If you had told me you were THE Keh'lyr, I wouldn't have given you that kind of lip. You are famous, whether you like it or not."

"But Be'lanna, I like lip. Lip is honest; something a diplomat sees precious little of. And here, I'm Trapper. Listen, I see the shuttle arriving. Before I go, let me tell you a story. It contains that wisdom you were after. Now, stop me if you've heard this one. A Klingon woman marries a human male. Her family warns of disaster if she does, but she does anyway. One day, her father receives an urgent call, and rushes to her side, bat'leth in hand. He enters her house. He can barely recognize his daughter. Her skin tone and lower face are the same. But her ridges are gone, and her once-sizable chest has dwindled to nothing. He asks what in blazes has happened to her."

Be'lanna's face showed her concern.

"So what did she tell him?"

Mock-sniffling, Trapper gave her reply.

"She said, 'Father, he left me flat!'"

Trapper found her own joke hilarious, but Be'lanna got up, then and there.

"That is the vilest---most disgusting---how can you---lady, you are sick. Dumb jokes are no substitute for a life. I hope you don't tell that joke to other Klingons."

"Just one. But Worf has no sense of humor, either. I wish you well, Be'lanna Torres. And consider two things, as you go on your way. One, self-acceptance takes time for any sentient to feel, and in hybrids it takes longer. Just give it time."

"And the second thing?"

Trapper removed a small dagger from her person, and pointed it right at Be'lanna's chest. Gently, she poked it, then put the dagger away.

"Pffffttttttt!!!!!"

Be'lanna realized Trapper was making the sound of a balloon deflating, and stalked off, angrier than ever. At his desk, Thelin looked over at the smiling Trapper.

"You know what, kid? You've been coming here almost your whole life. And not once has anyone found that joke funny."

Trapper-Keh'lyr went to meet her son.

"Everyone's a critic."

* * *

Several years later, USS Voyager

The night of love was sweet. Of course, after hours in leaky enviro-suits, air tasted pretty damn sweet, too. But Tom and Be'lanna had each other, at long last, and that was good. In the afterglow, they snuggled and chatted.

"Y'know, Tom. I was part of a betting pool that had you going after Seven. For weeks, your eyes seemed glued to her mammary banks, as it were."

"Hey. So I stared. I mean, they gotta put her in a regular uniform some day. That bodysuit just accentuates her in some major ways. It hardly leaves her flat."

They began to kiss, but were torn apart by Be'lanna's sudden giggling. Tom's eyes shifted.

"It's a little late in the game for color commentary, Be'lanna."

But now her giggling had Torres falling out of bed, laughing her backside off.

"Left her----left her flat!!!! I finally get it."

Tom stared down at his hysterically laughing lady love. She looked up at him, still giggling.

"Paris, if you don't get down here and take me now, when I'm feeling this good, I will kill you-hooooo-hoh-oooohahhheeh."

Tom needed no further prompting, and joined her on the floor.

"Yes, MA'AM!"

Their love, now in full bloom, had taken its time, of course. But some people need that time, if only to figure things out. Tom never did figure out, though, why Be'lanna liked him to make leaky balloon noises when kissed on a certain spot. 


	14. Kes X

**Kes to the X Power**

Well, she thought, at least I beat the 9-year limit. Of course, upon further contemplation, she realized her plans had always included staying in her original body--or for that matter, any body at all.

Staying on Voyager was out. No sense playing poltergeist, frustrating her friends' efforts to get home. Although she couldn't resist causing a blender to malfunction, covering Neelix's face with his new concoction.

"The Snadelian Chocolate Mousse will be delayed, somewhat, folks."

But when the Doctor's matrix shifted to match the "Playboy" program Tom had set up, she knew it was time to go. Besides, if she messed with Be'lanna's engines, her ghostly status would not help her - nothing would.

Wandering back toward Kazon space had NO appeal to her. Her parents and friends were likely dead by now, or would be horrified by what she had become. She also had no desire to run into the Caretaker's unstable companion or her fanatic acolytes.

She had no contact with the universe's higher beings, except for Q. Even then, all they did was briefly "bump shoulders".

"Well, little Kes! Moved up, have we?"

That was all she "heard" before the female Q "cleared her throat" and Q hurriedly departed. For all her loneliness, Kes laughed at the argument that then ensued. But when the infant Q began to cry, and then was comforted, her laughter faded. She remembered her own never-to-be born progeny, and the absurdity of having Harry Kim for a son-in-law. The wonderful absurdity of the doctor's holo-hair. Tom and Neelix having made their peace, which eventually did happen. She was expanding at a terrible rate, now. She would have to leave this reality she loved so well. Before she did, she sent a message through the void to someone she did not know.

"Take care of them, Annika."

"I shall."

Janeway turned her head.

"Say something, Seven?"

"I...She said I should take care of you."

"Who did?"

"I am certain I have no idea."

Tuvok and Neelix exchanged a look. They knew, without knowing, who gave Seven of Nine the message. Kaidith, Tuvok would say.

In this new reality, she could grow at her own pace, learn as she saw fit. But old habits die hard, and she saw a person in danger. She acted.

The woman was piloting a primitive space shuttle back to an alternate Earth--or more precisely, this woman's version of Earth. Radiation was killing her, though. She was sacrificing her own life to save her friends--as Kes had done. But this woman would die the true death.

Kes was impressed, both by the woman's love for her friends, and by the friends themselves. They were shockingly similar to the people on Voyager. The dying woman's love for one of them, though, was unlike what Kes had felt for either Tom or Neelix. It was for him, more than any other that this woman gave all.

Kes made an offer to the woman.

"I can help you. I can save them. But I'll have to do it my way. Will you accept this--for him?"

"Lady, to save him, I'd deal with the devil himself!"

"Let's hope I don't come to that."

Kes then placed the woman in a healing cocoon. As she guided the shuttle back, she formed a new body for the woman to inhabit. But then, as the shuttle set down in the Hudson River outside New York City, Kes did something she would regret.

This woman's love for and love from this man was something she wanted badly. So badly, she was willing to almost kill for it. She kept the woman in the cocoon, to heal, but did not transpose her spirit into the duplicate. Instead, she inhabited it herself. The glory of this woman's passion made her ecstatic; the guilt over stealing her life, even for a time, caused her to go into denial. She hadn't stolen anything; she was the woman, merely transformed. Radically transformed. Ultimately transformed.

The woman's friends, now her friends, waited on the surface, fearing the worst. Her life was now subsumed by this woman, and her love for this man. Eventually, Kes would return, and even go back to her home universe. For now, though, she was on the cusp of a new adventure. Rising from the water, she wanted to tell her friends that she was fine. But this was too much of a lie, so she shaded the truth which she hid even from herself. As she rose, the man who loved her-or thought he did-looked up in shock. They all did. She said a few, simple words to these extraordinary people, before collapsing from exhaustion. For good or ill, she was quite reborn.

"Forgive me, X-Men! For I am no longer the woman you knew! Now, and Forever, I AM PHOENIX!"

**Kes to the X2 Power**

The Candle in Tuvok's window danced wildly. The flames spread everywhere, but nothing burned, and no force-field could contain or smother it. Then, before the shocked eyes of the Voyager Crew, the flames coalesced into a familiar, welcome form. Tom Paris, wearing an overcoat for an Earth-bound sequence of his 'Captain Proton' holo-novel, immediately gave it to Tuvok, to cover her with. There was concern, to be sure, but mostly real joy. Few held greater joy than the Doctor. Like a Phoenix of old, Kes had been returned to them at last.

In Sickbay, she saw the Hologram's bald pate, and asked a question. A damned odd question.

"Professor Xavier?"

The Doctor continued his readings.

"Xavier? Hmm. Not a bad name. You know, I never did get around to selecting one. All right, let's start, Kes. Where have you been, since discorporating, five years back?"

"Has it been--that long?"

"Yes, yes. It has. We've made all kinds of wonderful progress, which Security Officer Neelix will be more than happy..."

"Neelix? Head Of Security?"

"Well, it's a long story. We lost many crewmembers, when the Borg Queen came for Seven--oh, she's another story."

"I know who Annika is, Doctor. Continue."

"Oh, right. You were here briefly-well, Neelix became Security, Tom is in Charge of Replication Technology Maintenance- a MUCH bigger job than it sounds-Harry Kim has Paris's old position, and Naomi has Harry's. She's quite bright, you know."

Kes smiled.

"I know. Replicators need that kind of maintenance now?"

"The new ones are that good. The one and only thing that we took away from the Borg Queen War. They're a devil to maintain, but Lt. Commander Paris--Yes, I know--does a passably competent job. Raised the standard of living here, freeing Neelix from the galley-and vice-versa. Oh, a minor ship's official to see us."

Kes was taken aback by the eye-patch that Captain Janeway sported. But she made it work. She could make anything work.

"Captain? Your Eye?"

"The nerves need time, Kes. The Doctor is working on a compatible prosthetic that can't be used against me by any Borg-types. Besides, the bitch may have taken my eye, but I took her whole damned collective!"

Kes laughed, but then, for no reason, shouted out; "WHO DARES?"

She apologized, and said that she had felt an odd pull. When she left, she began to familiarize herself with her friends again. Be'lanna and Tom were on the holodeck, so she went to see them. Neelix and Tuvok she would talk to later.

On the Bridge, Naomi checked their heading, and the general vicinity. The Science Officer asked her a question.

"Why is everyone so excited about this woman's return? I fail to comprehend."

"Seven, she's Kes!"

"That is not a logical answer."

"Is so."

"Is...Naomi, please do not start that again."

On the holodeck, the seemingly endless adventures of Captain Proton played, with Be'lanna as Proton's sidekick, Galaxy Gal. She was crouched underneath a desk, waiting to free Captain Proton, upon whom the villain had slapped a will-sapping helmet that looked like nothing more than a ruby-quartz visor. He caused a weapon to come out of the wall, and aimed it at Tom/Proton. Kes shrieked, but couldn't understand why.

"Get that weapon away from him--Scott!"

Casually, Kes telekinetically destroyed the weapon and the holo-villain. Be'lanna looked out from beneath her desk.

"Tom, you have a feeling she doesn't get this simulation?"

"Be'lanna-why are you under there? What about your claustrophobia?"

Torres laughed.

"Kes, I could hardly be Chief Engineer with a fear of closed spaces!"

Kes looked lost. She then felt the tug again.

"WHO DARES!"

Tom and Be'lanna pretended to understand, but reported their findings to the ship's counselor. Kes left to find Neelix. Along the way, she had a memorable encounter with Chakotay.

"Hey, you're looking good! I..."

"Don't hand me that, Mister! You think this wild-man, crazy act is going to make the pretty redhead fall in with you? Jump at your call, have a secret rendezvous? Well, here's news, BUB! Said redhead was here before you, and she knows the ropes, better than you could hope to. Back off."

"Kes, I just..."

"Sheathe your claws, little man! This Phoenix is not impressed."

Again, a call was made to the ship's counselor, and again Kes made a cry.

"WHO DARES!"

She found Neelix, a box under each arm.

"Neelix? How have you been?"

"Oh, fine. I'm just keeping my eye on you---a recently discovered security threat. You never know where they will pop up."

"So you don't trust me."

"Well, I wouldn't say that. You..."

"Going to turn me over to the Shi'ar?"

"Are they like the Krenim?"

"I murdered 5 billion. What makes you think I won't kill you?"

"Um. You--once loved me?"

"Oh, God. Neelix. I'm so...WHO DARES SUMMON ME!"

"Er, the Ships Counselor?"

Kes calmed.

"No. But that's probably a good idea, nevertheless. Forgive me?"

"How DARE you ask that. Of course I forgive you. That you're alive brightens my whole existence, Kes."

She kissed him, and left.

"Mind you, though, it does make security work a trifle difficult."

Kes couldn't believe her eyes.

"You---Are The Ship's Counselor?"

"Given my so-far inoperable paralysis, it seemed the logical thing to do. I am slowly learning the ropes, as it were."

In her mind, Kes started healing Tuvok's injuries, the legacy of a hideous neural disruptor. She did it slowly, so as not to upset him.

"What--is your chief concern?"

It was almost laughable. Tuvok was reading directly from the counseling manual.

"Well, I'm having memories of another person. I dream that I stole her life, stole her one true love, murdered a whole world, and threatened the cosmos itself."

'And--how do you feel about this?"

If Kes had been in better spirits, she would have told him to be himself, and ditch the book. The memories, despite their absurdity, haunted her, and she wanted to tell her friend, not a counselor. But just then, the tug she had felt became irresistible.

"WHO DARES SUMMON ME? WHO? GREYDARKJEAN! GREYDARKJEAN! WHO DAAAAAARRREEESSSS!"

As all of her friends watched Kes discorporated again. There was a silent feeling of heartbreak. Then, Tuvok stood up, quite healed.

"Hmm. Captain. I will no longer be able to function as ship's counselor. I will be in my quarters, awaiting reassignment."

Out of respect to Tuvok, the crew did not cheer in his presence.

As Kes felt her body reform, she looked in horror at herself-she was the murdering monster again-worse, another monster, with a face like hewn granite, stared back at her. It was this evil which had summoned her evil back. Kes was, for the moment, subsumed in a sea of despair. Again, her imperious cry rang out.

"WHO DARES SUMMON DARK PHOENIX?"

The evil one spoke.

"I....Darkseid."

Lost within the miasma of hate, Kes swore to swim out and punish this Lord of Misrule. But before she blacked out inside Dark Phoenix, she said one more word:

"Voyager."

On that ship, Tuvok's candle was relit, awaiting another day-and that day would come. If not for that Kes, then for one from yet another of the endless alternate realities.


	15. Mindset

Mindset  
by Rob Morris

The pain begins to take me, but it is easily endured. My people will call me for The Water Bringer.

From the moment I stepped on board, I could see that Janeway truly was the monster Lady Seska spoke of. Chakotay, our lady's abandoning, abusive rapist is the very lowest sort of creature. They are all under her thrall. No one questions even the most insipid of orders. I will be doing them a favor.

As the materials were put into me, I asked for extra. I wanted enough to destroy this evil, this Voyager, entirely. My leader commended me, and spoke of how my name shall be remembered not merely by our one clan, but by all Kazon. Happily, the amount put in me was later discovered to be more than enough to wipe the allies of our enslavers away entirely. I sit in their brig, but then stand up to be on my feet as the pain takes me at last. Sweet, total victory for The Kazon Nistrum. You shall keep us down no longer, wicked Janeway. Your hoarding days are done.

My people will call me The Water Bringer. Children will sing my...


End file.
